I'm, like, blogging less than people who never update!

I think this site is dying a slow death.

Anyway. In mild protest for the first thing I wrote for a new blog never being posted, I'm putting it up here in hopes that someone out there will enjoy it:

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WHAT’S THAT NOISE? OH, RIGHT, IT’S FIERY FURNACES.

There’s still a huge line outside Southpaw on Saturday night when I finally get un-lost in Brooklyn and approach the hipsters in their natural habitat. Standing on line, flustered on account of the stupid Q train, I crack a smile when I overhear this:

Dude 1: How’s this show gonna be tonight?
Dude 2: [shrugs] Eh …
Dude 1: Wow, way to sell it, dude. 

Nothing like a bit of jaded sarcasm to get me psyched for a show!

It turned out not to matter, though. The Fiery Furnaces’ Eleanor Friedberger immediately mesmerized me, a comforting combination of Cat Power and Jenny Lewis, both in musicianship and appearance, but with more “Charlie’s Angels”-like hair.

Many times, the Furnaces’ sound welds Bob Dylan-style spoken lyrics over Super Mario Brothers-sounding keyboard scales. Friedberger has a pretty voice but doesn’t let you glimpse it much. Clearly this is part of the plan. The songs are electronic but melodic; it’s frustrating but fun. You don’t know what to do with it — but the thing is, it totally works.

Friedberger and band rolled through hooky numbers such as “Single Again,” “Straight Street,” “Duplexes of the Dead” and “My Dog Was Lost But Now He’s Found,” which is much punchier live than the recorded version. Three or four seconds can make me fall in love with a song, and it happened with “My Dog … ” off the 2004 record “Blueberry Boat.” It was that common first-listen experience where the pendulum swings from, “Dear God, what’s that awful noise?” to “Wow, play that again.” You know what I’m talking about.

I sought to meet some fellow Fiery fans, so I stood at the bar pretending to read the list of beers until I had the courage to approach a cute guy. (The only time I have said courage is when said man is plainly gay, but so be it.) I chatted up Mark, a 34-year-old who looks a decade younger, and the guy who was trying to take him home. We did a shot of Jaeger and talked about my “If They Mated” idea concerning Cat Power and Jenny Lewis. Mark thought Feist was a more apt comparison. Well played, I said.

In the end, I’d forgotten all about the Debbie Downer outside the venue who was less than enthused about the show. I’m definitely buying “Blueberry Boat” today.

I drew this in Photoshop

It's of my new apartment in Murray Hill!

Good things: Same neighborhood I know and love full of young people; "low" rent; my own bedroom with a window (even though it faces another building); two nice girl roommates; can go to same gym and grocery; can still walk to work; near trains; just blocks from two of my best friends; huge kitchen with tons of cabinets.

Bad things: The apartment has no living room. But I thought I would go ballistic living in a studio ("The whole place is only ... one room?"), but like any quirky thing, you get used to it.


The other roomies call the hallway "The Bowling Lane" if that gives you any idea of how long it is. It's skinnier than it looks in my oh-so-amateur sketch. So is the kitchen.

So, does anyone know how to move in Manhattan when you don't have a car and don't want to pay movers? I have no idea where to start, but I move in around May 1!